


the slightest clue (or lack thereof)

by peachnectarsoda



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Auror Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy Loves Harry Potter, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Hospitals, M/M, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Relationship Reveal, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Secret Relationship, St Mungo's Hospital
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:35:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26647612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachnectarsoda/pseuds/peachnectarsoda
Summary: Harry Potter gets in an accident that leaves him hospitalized at St Mungo's Hospital, Draco Malfoy is in love, and Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley have no idea what's going on.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 7
Kudos: 284





	the slightest clue (or lack thereof)

“Ronald? I’ve gotten your Patronus- what’s wrong?” Hermione Granger tears into the room where Ronald Weasley sits, his normally titian hair discolored with dirt as a result of an explosion that had crumbled around him. Upon the full view of him in his disheveled state registering in her mind, she drops to her knees in front of his chair and takes his hands in her own. They had fought in a war four years ago, and yet Ron and Harry still decided to keep fighting as Aurors. Her mouth opens before she can speak, too many questions fighting to escape her lips. First, she settles on, “Are you alright?”

“I almost died,” He answers.

Hermione squeaks at this and reaches to the back of his head, pulling it down to her lips and kissing his forehead even though he’s covered in soot. “Are you hurt? Answer me, Ronald,” She brings her hand back down to his.

“A few cuts and they’re all healed. They wouldn’t have let me here if I were still hurt,” says Ron.

The ‘here’ in question is his office on level two of the Ministry of Magic with a comforting vibe that reminds him of the Gryffindor common room, all scarlet and maroon with signature traces of gold, like the whole room decided it wanted to resemble a fireplace as much as it could. Normally, the room and the pictures on his desk that smile and wave at him bring him peace, but he can’t help feeling the exact opposite. His body shakes and he can’t properly tell Hermione anything yet, though he’s trying, which is odd because his whole thing is that he’s supposed to be good with dealing with trauma. That’s about half of what he’s famous for. Despite his best attempts, the world around him is still buzzing and his right ear is still ringing, but it wasn’t him who got the worst of it; right now, the woman he loves is looking at him with all the love and concern in the world, and- “Harry is at St. Mungos,”

Hermione’s eyes shoot open and one of her hands fly to her mouth while the other one remains clasped in his, squeezing. “Harry was with you?”

“I didn’t get to see him. I just know it’s bad,”

“What happened?”

“Rachelle Ruffsplat happened,” answers Ron. Hermione frowns- Ron had been complaining about the Ruffsplat siblings for the past few weeks, and about how close he and Harry were to catching them right in the act of their Muggle homicides. For the past two months or so, multiple Muggles had been killed due to cursed potions and items of the sort being sold to them by the same distributor, eventually traced back to blood purists Dorian and Rachelle Ruffsplat. “When Dorian went down, she brought down the whole place with him.”

“We’ve got to get to St. Mungo’s, Ron. As soon as you’re ready to Apparate.”

“I’m ready.”

Ron hardly gets the words out before he’s spinning out of his chair, and suddenly he’s standing in the lobby of a hospital. A few of the Healers are around in their lime green robes, while the Welcome Witch sits at a desk surrounded by multiple scrolls of parchment both on the desktop as well as floating around her head, quills scribbling maniacally over them to record information. Hermione is tugging him towards the witch with as much determination as to when she had walked into Ron’s office, desperate to make sure that Harry is okay. When she approaches, the witch looks up at her with a bored expression and asks if she needs any help, not sounding very enthusiastic or helpful at all.

“What room is Harry Potter in? He’d be on the fourth floor.” She rushes out, her eyes panicked and flickering about.

“Right.” The Welcome Witch nods once again. “His emergency contact has already been notified. I can’t give you anything more than that.”

“Do you know who I am?” Hermione spits back, offended. She's only pulled this card once before, and it was to cut the line in Diagon Alley to get a book signed by one of her most favorite authors. “I’m Hermione Granger! He’s Harry Potter! My _best_ friend! _Surely_ you know-”

“Hermione!” Ron cuts her off.

She exhales and closes her eyes, shaking her head to calm herself down before opening them again. She smiles, and the next few words she says are chosen extremely carefully. “I apologize for my outburst. Harry Potter and I have been through a _lot_ together, and I’m worried about him. Now, if there’s any way you could tell me where he is, or even if he’s okay…?”

“Are you his emergency contact?”

“Erm-” Hermione looks at Ron. He rolls his eyes.

“Bloody hell, Hermione. If you had let me speak, I could have told you my mum is his emergency contact.”

Hermione exhales, grabbing Ron by the two sides of his head and smashing her lips against his cheek in a loud smooch. When she lets him go, he rubs the area. “Wonderful!” She turns wildly to the Welcome Witch, expecting her to say something.

The Welcome Witch nods for a third time, her bored expression still remaining steadily on her face as if she deals with frantic war heroes on a daily basis. “I’ll send up a message. You two take a seat.” 

She flicks her wand and a new piece of parchment pops up, a quill writes something, and then the note disappears. The witch turns back to her work as Hermione grabs Ron’s upper arm, leading him to a purple loveseat that's too squishy for her liking. She sinks far into it, making her feel small. For the next few minutes, she waits patiently, but as too much time passes, she starts to get fidgety.

“You’re still filthy.” She says, turning to Ron in order to fill the silence. She casts a Scourgify. It helps his hair tremendously, but his face still has smudges that she takes care of with her sleeve pulled up over her hand. He thanks her, though he feels rather ridiculous and is almost positive the Welcome Witch had watched them the entire time. When even more time passes, Hermione stands up and walks over. She doesn’t talk very long, and when she comes back, she plops down with a noise of contempt. “Your mother isn’t the emergency contact. Harry _changed_ it, apparently. _Months_ ago.”

Ron looks at her, bug-eyed. “Are you sure? To _who?”_

“I haven’t the slightest clue!” Hermione cries, then drops her head in her hands. There isn’t a situation in the world she couldn’t control; the girl is on her way to become the next Minister of Magic, and anyone with half a brain can see that she's the brightest witch around. However, not one bit of that matters right now because her best friend is hurt and she can’t do a damn thing about it. “It’s neither of us, and I’m sure if it were any of your siblings they would have said something.”

“My siblings!” Ron says suddenly. “If nobody’s called mum, then none of them know yet.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve already sent a Patronus.”

He looks at her, astounded. “Bloody hell. When?”

“Have you not been sitting next to me this entire time? Sometimes, I swear it’s like you’re not inside your own head.”

“That’s brutal, Hermione.”

“I’m _stressed!”_ She shouts, her voice becoming extremely high and shrill. “I hope he’s alright.”

“He’s fine,” answers Ron quickly. “It may be Luna or Neville. Or maybe somebody obvious we haven’t thought of yet. Whoever it is, Harry trusts them.”

“More than he trusts us?’ Hermione says sadly.

Ron frowns. “I’m sure there’s a reason. Probably assumed that if he gets hurt, we might've been there with him, too. We always are, aren't we? Yeah, that's it."

“Miss Granger?” says the Welcome Witch. Hermione’s head snaps up to see the lady looking at a small piece of paper. “Mr. Potter is currently residing in ward forty-six.”

“Thank you!” 

She springs up with Ron, once again grabbing his arm and leading him so quickly through the hospital that he’s surprised his arm doesn’t tear off. Honestly, the woman is scarier than any Auror mission he’s had to go on, and she’s only tried to kill him once. Or rather she only threatened it, because if Hermione Granger wants you dead, you die. The couple whizzes through the hospital, up to the fourth floor, passing nurses in green robes and normal people mulling about with food or enchanted balloons or sad expressions. Hermione is going on about how terrible the service is, how they _know_ who she is, and only gets quiet when Ron reminds her about all the illegal things they have done with the use of Polyjuice Potion and it’s probably for Harry’s safety and legal junk that they had to wait for clearance. After her complaints are quelled, she starts talking about how the emergency contact is probably someone like Kinglsey Shacklebolt.

“The Minister?”

“Harry’s an important man. It makes sense!”

“Maybe it’s Ginny. You don’t think they’ve gotten back together and haven’t told anyone?”

“Absolutely not,” laughs Hermione. “It’s been months. Ginny would have let it slip, by now. And she would have called to see if you’re alright, too.”

“Better not be her, then. She’d be a right git if she didn’t call.”

“I’m utterly stumped.” Hermione sighs, stopping them just outside the ward door, right before they could enter. “I just hope he’s alright.”

With that, she pushes the door open. The ward is filled with beds that are all empty, save for one, currently containing a boy with black hair that is tossed about his head like it was glued on rather than grown there, much more unkempt than its usual appearance. Considering the rumors that he doesn’t own a comb, that’s saying something. Unlike Ronald, he had been cleaned by someone. Harry Potter’s two best friends rush forward to his bedside and Hermione immediately addresses the Healer standing with him about his current condition, which is confirmed to be stable. They’re assured that the best Healers are working on him, that all will remain confidential, and that he’ll most likely wake up soon.

Once the Healer leaves and the two sit with Harry for a while Hermione’s eyebrows pinch together in confusion. Her eyes dart around the room.

“What are you looking for? We’re the only ones in here.”

“...Exactly!” says Hermione, the word coming out at a reduced speed as her brain works overtime. She stands up and walks around the room, peering around the corners of a few curtains and finding nothing. “We’re the only ones in here! Who the hell did this hospital call, if not us?” She crosses her arms and angrily sits down on an empty bed.

Then the door to the ward opens.

Ron turns, expecting to see his parents and sister, and maybe a brother or two, but is met with none of the above. Entering the doorway of the ward and closing the door behind him, is none other than an exhausted-looking man with a black jacket folded over his arm and hair so blonde it’s almost white. Draco Malfoy looks at the two of them, mirroring none of the bewilderment they possess as if he expected them to be there.

“Ronald. Hermione.” Malfoy greets stiffly.

Ronald narrows his eyes. “What are _you_ doing here?”

He doesn’t bother to wonder why Malfoy used their first names like Hermione is. Rapid thoughts pass through her head, connecting out of place memories like how Dittany sews skins, trying to find a conclusion with everything she knows. When Malfoy’s eyes flicker to Harry, he looks so overcome with sadness that it pours through his entire body, his shoulders tensing up as he pulls his arm closer to himself. The solution clicks together. Hermione lets out a small sound of astonishment and stands up from her seated position, walking back over to Harry’s bedside.

“It’s you.” She says, baffled. "But, _why?"_

“What are you on about?” asks Ron.

“You’re his emergency contact.” She concludes. Then, because Hermione Granger always needs to know, she asks, “Why? How?”

“No way,” Ron counters.

“I don’t think you’d believe me, if I said.”

Draco approaches Harry, and Hermione can tell by way his hand twitches- like he was going to reach out to him and thought better of it- that whatever he said next was going to be the truth. Ron looks lost, his eyes skitting between the three of them as he tries to make the connections Hermione is drawing.

“Let’s hear it, Malfoy,” says Ron.

Hermione nods in agreement.

“Alright, then.” says Draco. He reaches down and grabs Harry’s hand in his own, brushing his thumb over the back of his hand. “He’s my... romantic.. partner.”

“Fuck off!” Ron calls out, looking scandalized at the two boy’s connected hands, like Draco is going to poison Harry or somehow put him in an even worse state just by touching him. The two boys have hated each other, and as far as Ron knew until a minute ago, still hated each other. The last interaction between them that Ron knew of is when Harry had testified for Draco and Narcissa at their respective trials since the both of them saved his life, and Malfoy had not uttered as much as a thank you.

“Fuck _you.”_ Draco counters almost automatically, though he doesn’t seem truly angry. “We’ve been seeing each other for almost a year, now. And... I love him.” He straightens his shoulders, but his pale skin does nothing to hide the blush that paints his cheeks at the admission, undoubtedly mortified at his situation.

“Why don’t we know about this?” Hermione struggles to ask, her jaw tight. 

Ron is beside himself. “You _believe_ him?”

“He was scared of how you all would react. I didn’t want to drag his name through his mud. It was a mutual decision. You weren’t supposed to…” Draco frowns. “You weren’t supposed to find out like this.”

“Were we supposed to find out at all?”

Draco turns his full attention to Harry, avoiding the question. Since Hermione is standing on the other side of him, Draco pulls the empty chair next to Ron closer to Harry’s head and sits. He sits as if it’s uncomfortable to even hold Harry’s hand, straight up in the chair and his back pressed against it as far as it would go.

“Ronald, I understand you were with him?”

“Why are you being so bloody formal? You’re freaking me out.”

“I- sorry.” Immediately, Draco’s shoulder slump. “Could you please just tell me? Please? I swear, I'm not lying. I really- Harry thinks- he says that- that I'm different, now.”

Ron takes a good look at Draco, and all the sudden realizes how different he looks from when they were in school together. His hair is longer, and while a haunted look had permanent residency on Draco Malfoy’s face during their final year at Hogwarts, Ron is certain he’s never seen him like this. It’s obvious to see how upset Draco is- with a horrifying drop in his gut, he realizes that Draco had been crying.

“Uh- sure." He settles on telling him, finally. "We were on a mission-”

“Harry was talking about the Ruffsplats?”

Ron looks bewildered. An image of Draco Malfoy and Harry eating dinner together pops into his mind, Draco casually asking about Harry's day at work and Harry telling him about the hunt for Rochelle and Dorian. “...Yeah. Them. The two of them were going for the kill, only Harry got to the brother first. When she saw what happened, the girl casted some curse that made the warehouse we were in crumble. Harry and I were right next to each other, and then all the sudden he was just _gone_. When I found him I sent out a distress signal and…” Ron waves his arm to show the current situation they’re in, and Draco nods.

“Did a Healer talk to you? I was told-”

“That he’ll wake up soon.” Hermione finishes. “Yes. They told us.”

Sitting in the room with Draco proved to be quite awkward, but as time passes Hermione summons a third chair for herself and they all become used to each other. Draco absentmindedly brings his hand up to Harry’s hair, dropping it down to his cheek when he realizes it’s too messy to run his fingers through. Upon Ron making a noise at the intimate gesture, Hermione sends her elbow into his ribs and glares.

“So, Draco, how did you two reconnect?” Hermione questions. “Obviously you two didn’t… at Hogwarts.”

“After he spoke at my trial. I hadn’t known he was going to be there. Afterwards, I thanked him, and it all just happened.”

"You thanked him? He said you didn't even look him in the eye." Ron says, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I asked him to say that."

“Did-” Hermione starts.

“You don’t have to talk to me.” Draco interrupts. “I know you pity me right now, and I don’t appreciate it.”

Hermione looks at him, aghast at his reaction. She was only trying to ask questions- apparently her best friend has been dating his rival for a year and she had no idea. Isn’t it natural for her to want to know what happened? Where did she go wrong? Why didn’t Harry trust her enough to tell her? How close are Harry and Draco? Does Harry love him back? How many times had Harry wanted to gush or rant about his lover and had nobody to talk to? She can’t spit out her questions fast enough, and now _Draco_ doesn’t want to talk to her. He had been rude about it, too, but she’s choosing to ignore that because they’re all in a very uncomfortable situation right now- Harry wouldn’t date him if he were still a prejudiced git. Hermione knows that.

Something has changed in Draco Malfoy, and Hermione intends to figure out what. But for now, all she can do is fold her hands in her lap, and wait for Harry to wake.

**Author's Note:**

> tysm for reading! comments so appreciated! <3


End file.
